Briarcliff School for Wayward Girls
by Hagia-Hyena
Summary: "Conduct Disorder - the counselor said. Marked antisocial behavior." Violet is sent to a boarding school for troubled girls where she meets the enigmatic and handsome Mr. Langdon. But it's when she discovers his penchant for whips and chains that things really get interesting.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this story had gotten really popular on AO3 (probably because AO3 is full of perverts) so I decided to publish it here as well. Anyway, enjoy!

Briarcliff School for Wayward Girls. This school sucked. A bunch of junkies and skanks from the sound of it. And why was _she _the one kicked out of Westfield? Why not that bitch whose stupid mouth she punched? The first time she heard the damn thing open she was talking about some guy doing coke off her nipples. And the second time she was telling her to eat a lit cigarette. Horrible first impression, if you were to ask Violet - the girl was asking for a sandwich made of knuckles. But of course no one listened to Violet. No one ever did, it seemed.

Conduct Disorder - the counselor had said. Marked antisocial behavior. Her father had been mortified. What would his patients think if they knew what a menace his daughter was? Well what would they think if they knew he cheated on his wife with a girl nearly his daughter's age? And of course her mother just sighed and shook her head in that fake concerned way - like she gave a shit about Violet even _before_ she lost that baby. Yeah, they were disappointed but fuck them. _Fuck_ them.

" - enforce disciplinary action. I know most public schools are averse to corporeal punishment but we find it works rather well on the more difficult ones." The old lady wittered from across the desk. From the sag of her face Violet surmised she was at least of near-death age.

"So you're going to beat me?" She crossed her ankle over her knee and slouched back into the chair.

"_Violet._" Her father warned. "Just - don't. Not now." She rolled her eyes. She looked around the office. It was made up of dark, over-polished wood and ugly oriental rugs. Seriously, the rugs were everywhere. At least three that she could see on the floor and one hanging up on the wall next to a dusty china cabinet. On the desk was a picture of a much younger version of the woman in front of her shaking hands with a cardinal or a bishop or whatever. Why her parents were sending her to a catholic school instead of some remedial thing was beyond her. Violet couldn't remember the last time they went to church. She just figured they were atheists now. Apparently not.

"Of course Mrs. Harmon. You're actually welcome to meet one of our teachers now if you like. You can look over her lesson plan. Academia is our top priority. We don't simply wish to be a place to dump troubled girls. We want to make sure they get the same opportunities as all the others."

Violet alternated between picking at the loose strands at the heel of her too-long jeans and at the loosening string on her too-long, coffee-stained, well-loved Joy Division t-shirt. This was bullshit. Her parents brought her here to give her the illusion of choice, but the trivial questions her parents were asking and the fact that anything _Violet _said had been immediately shushed hinted that the decision had already been made. The old woman stood and hobbled around the desk. _Surprised she doesn't need a walker._

"If you would just follow me." The woman held the door open for them and they were making their way deeper into the building. The walls glowed a dull grey under the florescent lights. It's what Violet imagined a mortuary to look like. All washed out and lifeless.

They turned down another hall - this one decidedly more cheerful than the last. Though the color was an ugly pastel yellow, Violet found it pleasant. It added to the black and white checkered tile that made up the floor - a pattern the girl had always liked. The woman knocked on a door to their right and was immediately invited in by a sweet sounding voice from within.

A young woman stood in front of the blackboard, heavy book and several notebooks in hand jotting down talking points. She smiled at them, juggling the items in her arms but dropping them on her desk in a rather undignified manner, knocking a stack of papers to the floor.

"This is Sister Mary Eunice, the World History professor." The old woman introduced her. The young woman smiled apologetically.

"I'm terribly sorry. I'm just trying to -" She scrambled around the desk, quickly recovering the papers. She stacked them neatly and collected herself. "I'm just trying to organize my lesson plans." She beamed and politely shook their hands.

As they exchanged 'nice to meet you's' Violet sized her up. She seemed like one of those people that wore a mask of confidence over a very fragile ego. It had probably come up in some performance review that she wasn't assertive enough. Like a little girl trying on her mother's clothes to look grown up - all the elements were there, they just didn't fit. There was a weariness about her. This job was wearing her down, Violet could tell.

Mary Eunice went on to tell them about the daily activities in the classroom and the general performance of her students. It sounded painfully dull.

"So how often do you discipline the girls?" Violet asked.

The woman seemed surprised. "Well," She started slowly. "I don't normally do that. I either send them to the Mother Superior's office or I send them to Sister Agnes'."

'"Who's that?" Violet asked.

"Oh, it's not a person." The old woman laughed. "It's sort of the therapy wing of the building. You'll do exercises in self-reflection, have to write papers on how your behavior effects others and the like. It's where we hold the etiquette classes as well."

Ben Harmon smiled. It was faint, but Violet caught it. _Etiquette classes_. That sounded… horrific. Hopefully she wouldn't be required go - or to pass it. Her parents were obviously happy with the school. Whether or not it was because Violet would be staying there 9 months out of the year was up for debate.

Her parents were invited back into the old woman's office while Violet was ordered to wait outside. She paced across the hall, shuffling her feet so they squeaked on the linoleum. She was so lost in her own little world that she didn't hear the footsteps until they were right up on her.

"You waiting on someone?" A man, probably mid-twenties, gestured to the door. Despite herself, she immediately slunk back, letting her hair fall in her face. She hated when she did this. Anytime someone even moderately attractive so much as looked her she suddenly turned into this… _Shrinking violet._ She sneered internally. And he _was_ attractive. He was at least a head taller than her with unkempt blonde hair, big brown eyes, and what she deemed a 'charming' little freckle on the end of his nose. She feigned nonchalance, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger.

"No, I just broke into the building and now I'm loitering out here for the hell of it." She mumbled. To his credit, her sarcasm seemed not to faze him. He simply nodded as if she had answered him politely. He cracked the door open and knocked quietly. He obviously got the reaction he was looking for as he disappeared into the room. Violet could hear friendly conversation from behind the door. She continued her obsessive pacing, finger still twisting her hair. Before long the young man emerged with a large file, giving her a look of pity. He stood there for a moment just _staring _at her and looked as though he wanted to say something.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" She snapped. She was starting to feel a blush creep up on her cheeks from the way he was looking at her. There was no way she was going to embarrass herself by letting him see the reaction he was causing.

"I'm sorry." He stuttered a bit. "It's - it's just that the ones signed up for the studies… well." He sighed, shaking his head and walking down the hall.

"What studies?" She asked. He ignored her. "What studies?!" She shouted after him. He paused, seeming to take a moment to collect his words. He moved hesitantly back to her, checking to be sure no one else was around. He was too close for comfort. At this distance she could smell the spicy scent of his body wash overlaid with the harsh smell of laundry detergent. She tried her best to meet his eyes, but ended up mostly staring at his shoulder.

"Like um…" He pointed to the ceiling. "You see that up there?" She followed his gaze upward. "You see that big 'gullible' written on the ceiling?" If the capillaries in her cheeks weren't full to bursting yet, they soon would be. She pushed away from him sputtering. The combination of arousal and humiliation shut down any kind of smart assed remark she could have made.

"You should probably be more respectful of the staff if you plan on going to school here." He smirked, turning away. "Also, watch your language." He strode down the hall toward the classrooms.

She grasped for a word other than _idiot._ Idiot. Violet you fucking idiot. She finally settled for her old, faithful friend.

"Yeah, well fuck you, asshole." She usually made it sound less desperate and weak, but it was better than whatever pathetic witticism she could come up with in this state. Could be worse. She didn't even look to see if he had heard her. She just folded her arms as tightly across her chest as she could manage and ducked her head down, trying to disassociate herself from the situation entirely.

A/N: Tate is kind of a weird and a dick in this chapter because he was a dick when he first met Violet. He was actually pretty flipping unbalanced in the first episode period. It was only later that he became the cherubic sweetie who shopped at grandma stores and the baby gap that we all know and love. That will be the case in this story as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Her parents planned a brutal family dinner in honor of her starting boarding school the next day. They had sat in silence for a bit before Violet could no longer stand the sad charade of a family her parents pretended to be. It was obvious from the way her parents refused to look at one another that whatever bond they had left was fraying rapidly. The stiff way her father asked her mother to pass the green beans and the way Vivien barely acknowledged him.

Violet found herself in her room hating the world and everyone in it. Her father had come in earlier to ask her what her problem was, the ensuing argument had ended with her in tears and him storming out of her room slamming her door behind him in frustration. She now found herself lying in bed too drained from her emotional outburst to reach over to her dresser for her iPod which she so desperately craved. Instead she scratched the scabs on her wrists until they were burned raw and the flesh under her nails was too slick with blood to continue.

She had made sure to pack her razors - hiding them carefully in a manicure set she had gotten for Christmas. At least she would be able to find _some_ solace at Briarcliff.

* * *

The ride was uneventful. She moped in the back seat despite the front passenger's seat being available. Her father had stayed home with a patient so her mother was driving her to her first day of school.

"Well, at least you'll be starting on the first day back - not in the middle of the year." That was the first thing she had said to her daughter since they started this hour and a half long car trip. Violet just shrugged and mumbled an agreement under her breath.

"Are you okay?" Vivien asked. Her tone was soft like she genuinely wanted to listen. Too little too late. _Other than wishing I hadn't woken up this morning - that I'd just died of a brain hemorrhage in my sleep? Fucking horrible._

"I'm fine." She droned, running her nails through the grooves in the faux leather seats, picking at the seams.

Vivien was silent for a few more minutes before chirping, "I looked over your Literature syllabus. It looks like you'll be reading a lot of books you'd probably enjoy. Have you read Lord of the Flies yet?"

Violet shook her head. Before the miscarriage one thing she and her mom had bonded over was a similar taste in, and passion for, books.

"Watership Down was on the required reading too." Vivien smiled dreamily. "I remember when you were little you're dad rented that for you not knowing what it was about," She laughed "I freaked out when he told me, I thought you would be traumatized but you thought it was the greatest movie in the world. The messed up bunny movie. Do you remember that?"

She did remember it. She smiled fondly thinking about it. She hoped they would get to watch the video.

"Yeah." She couldn't keep the smile out of her voice.

"I love you, Violet. You know that, right?" Her smile faded. _Way to go, mom_. She shrugged again. Vivien caught her eye in the rear view mirror but she tried to pretend she hadn't noticed.

The rest of the ride was quiet

* * *

They pulled up in front of Briarcliff and Violet felt her stomach sink. She hated _normal_ high schoolers - there was no way she was going to get along with these girls. But for four whole months she was going to be stuck here. _Great._

Vivien helped her unload her bags and bring them into the building - offering words of encouragement the whole way. As they entered the foyer they were directed to the dorms by colorful signs in quirky fonts and an excess of smiley faces. Violet let herself imagine she was being escorted to her death by lethal injection. It became quite a bit harder to maintain this illusion as they approached the dormitory proper. She was asked to sign in and be assigned her bunk. Then she was handed a bag of uniforms and sent on her way.

"They'll be giving me a number next." She scoffed.

Vivien bit back a smirk, "You're being dramatic. It's boarding school - it's like that."

Some of the girls had already changed into their uniforms and were larking around in the halls. Violet sneered as she saw a middle aged man leering at one of the girls while standing next to his (presumably) wife and daughter. Vivien escorted her up to her dorm. The room was quite small. Two bare twin beds sat on opposite ends of the room. The paint was chipped in the window and Violet was dismayed to find that there were thick iron bars on the outside. She looked pleadingly at her mother who, to her credit, seemed as perturbed as her daughter.

"Well," Vivien heaved a great sigh. "Lets get you settled in." She pulled a fresh set of sheets from the canvas bag on her arm, fitting them over the mattress. There was a small closet with a short chest of drawers in which Violet could keep her clothing and belongings. Vivien was finished with the bed by the time she had all her uniforms packed away and was helping her tack posters up on her walls. She hadn't been allowed to bring her very favorite ones because of their "obscene or violent nature" but she at least had her more artistic ones.

They sat for a bit - Vivien striking up a superficial conversation with her daughter. Violet really didn't want to be there. She wished she hadn't punched Leah. She wished she could take it all back and go back to being a wallflower - passing through the world like a ghost. She wished she could go back home - back to her parents benign neglect and just exist. At least with that life she could keep what self-worth she felt hidden away and protected deep within her - she could nurture the little flame in private as she bled out the poisons in her veins that sought to extinguish it.

As it was, she felt thrown away. Like a little doll no one wanted to hold any more. All covered in piss and vomit and a whole manner of unsavory things that made the injustice of tossing out such a sentimental thing seem bearable.

Vivien wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders and placed a kiss on her temple. She left her lips in the girl's hair and sat that way in silence for a minute. If Violet had any emotional reaction to the gesture, she didn't show it.

Violet heard her mother sniffle as she relinquished her hold on her. The woman reached down into her oversized purse and pulled out a thick, black spiral-bound notebook and a fancy fountain pen. She handed them to Violet who found that the cover was made of a strangely rough material.

"You can do etchings on it," Vivien elaborated. "See?" She took her nail and made a dash on the top corner. The black peeled away to reveal a lavender foil underneath.

"Use it to write me, okay?" Vivien stroked the girl's hair. Violet nodded dumbly. "You can use it as a journal too. Or a sketchbook. It's stationary, but it's not lined."

"Thanks." Violet mumbled. It was a very unique gift. Her mother had obviously put a lot of thought into it. It was another thing they shared - a love of writing and an artistic streak. Her eyes started to burn with unshed tears and she tried desperately to collect herself before she started to cry.

Vivien's arms wrapped around her again. "I love you, sweetie. Even if you don't write to me, I'll write to you." Violet nodded into her mother's chest. "And call me if you need me, okay?" She tried to get the girl to meet her eyes, but she refused to do it.

They said their goodbyes. She had about an hour to get settled before she had to go down to the atrium for new student orientation. She started by hiding her new notebook under the mattress - not knowing if her roommate would be a thief. Speaking of which, the bed next to hers remained mysteriously empty despite the late hour. Violet allowed herself to hope that perhaps she would have the room to herself. She perked up a bit - she took great pleasure in alone time. The school would be much more tolerable if she got it in plenty.

Alas, this was not to be. A pale, thin girl about Violet's age stalked into the room balancing her bedding and the bag for her uniforms. A mostly empty looking duffle bag was slung over her shoulder. The girl spared a quick glance at Violet - annoyance plain on her face. She barely acknowledged Violet's presence in the room but that suited her just fine. She wasn't here to make friends.

The girl set to work making her bed with dingy sheets and a thin unwashed blanket. She then folded a girly patterned sheet in half and threw it over the bare curtain rod over the window.

"The fuck is your problem?!" The girl suddenly shouted in a thick Brooklyn accent . "You're just starin like a fucking creep." Violet was startled by her sudden outburst.

"What's _your_ problem?" She snarled. "You don't even know me. And for your information I wasn't _staring _at your grungy ass. I was watching what you were doing." Westfield all over again.

"What's going on in here?" An older woman stood at the door.

"She was muggin me, Sister," The girl was quick to say. "I was just askin 'er what her problem was."

"I was not!" Violet shouted, indignant. "She just blew up out of nowhere and I -"

"Enough!" The woman shouted. "Mother Superior's office." She glared at the girls. "Now."

* * *

She hadn't even been there a day and already she was in trouble. Violet sat on the floor in the hall across from her roommate who she now knew to be named Mia. The nun, sister Jude, had asked if they had even introduced themselves before fighting and, once she discovered they hadn't, made them exchange pleasantries.

As it was, Violet still referred to the girl as 'bitch' while Mia called her 'cunt'. The girls were called into the office by a very severe looking Jude and ordered to stand in front of the Mother's desk. The woman sighed when she saw them.

"Never takes you long, does it Mia?"

"No. I'm sorry, Mother superior." Mia answered instantly.

"Alright," The woman huffed. "Lets hear it. You first, girly." She gestured to Violet to speak.

She paused a minute, not sure if this was some sort of trap. "Well," She stuttered. Her jaw opened and closed desperately like a fish out of water, but try as she might, she couldn't force words out when she was put on the spot like that.

"Alright then," The woman turned to the bitch. "Mia?"

"I was just puttin up my stuff and the whole time she's just staring at me like she's got a problem with me or sum'm sos I ask her what her problem is and she starts yellin at me like -"

"I did not! I wasn't even staring -"

"You weren't given permission to speak!" Sister Jude slammed her hand on the desk, shutting Violet up immediately.

"It's Mia's turn." The Mother superior informed her.

Violet scowled, crossing her arms tight over her chest.

Mia continued. "So she's yelling at me, right? And then Sister Jude comes in and now we're here."

They stood in silence for a time before the older women looked to Violet to share her side of the story.

"I was just watching her put up her stuff and she just blew up on me out of nowhere." Violet grumbled.

"So you were staring at me?" Mia sneered, smacking her hands down against her thighs as she uncrossed her arms.

"What was I supposed to do?! Stare at the wall?" This girl was _really_ pissing her off.

Jude interrupted. "You were _supposed _to get along. Both of you."

"And you're going to." The older woman stood and rounded the desk. Sister Jude moved to the other side of the room and pulled a cane from the closet in the corner.

"Bare your thighs." The older woman instructed them. Mia complied immediately, pulling her pants down to her knees. Violet, however was too stunned to do much of anything but gawk.

"What?" She squeaked.

"Five strikes with the cane for fighting." She looked between the two older women before slowly lifting her dress up to below her butt.

Mia got them first, gritting her teeth as her face screwed up in pain. Violet let out a pained groan when the first blow hit and when they were done, she quickly pulled her skirt down, holding it there as if it were the only thing protecting her from Sister Jude.

Then she was sent down to the orientation.

She squirmed into her seat in an attempt to take the pressure off of her probably bruised legs. The air-headed man at the podium outlined staff expectations for the girls and reviewed punishments for misbehavior but Violet heard none of it. She balked at the injustice that had been done to her - the injustices that would continue to befall her if she kept up this rivalry with the bi… Mia. She decided that she would try to make amends when she got back to the room. No matter how much it hurt her pride.

She briefly took notice of what was being said by the staff when the blonde man from before stood in front of them. Mr. Langdon, his name was. Apparently at the delicate young age of twenty-fiveish he was the department head of English and Literature. She hoped she wouldn't have him. It would be humiliating to sit in his class if he recognized her.

She had a whole speech planned in her head for when she confronted Mia. It slipped from her mind when she entered their room to see the girl smoking by the cracked-open window. She drew a shuddering breath before beginning in as calm a tone as she could muster.

"Listen, they're not separating us so can we forget what happened today and at least try to get along?"

Mia considered her for a minute before replying, "We ain't talkin'. That's getting along."

"That's fine." Violet let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. She went to the closet, snatching her own contraband cigarettes from her manicure set and lighting one up and grabbing a book from her bag.

They smoked in silence - Violet reading, Mia staring off into space - for several hours until a bell rang announcing th_at it was time for dinner. _


End file.
